


In Which Grantaire Is Icarus

by betweentheheavesofstorm



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, E/R rambling, Gen, Grantaire is Icarus and they still die, I painfully attempt to imitate eloquence of the Brick, I'm Sorry Victor Hugo, M/M, and profound bullshit, defying the Law with cuddles, i wrote this late at night, mostly feelings, so got a bit carried away, technically an e/r fic but nothing hugely e/r actually happens, they die holding hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheheavesofstorm/pseuds/betweentheheavesofstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire himself was for once, confused by the situation. He had provoked a lecture for the simple pleasure of conducting Enjolras's attention, and now he had more of it than he reasonably knew what to do with. He met the other man's gaze, and said, in an awkward attempt to be humorous, 'You're staring. Do I have something on my face?'</p><p>Enjolras broke off his gaze abruptly, though he ceased pacing and settled himself in a sitting position alongside his companion. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Instead of being executed immediately, Enjolras and Grantaire are imprisoned for a short while before execution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Grantaire Is Icarus

 

Enjolras had never paid much attention to Grantaire. Naturally, he was aware the man existed; yet when R did catch his eye his flaws and failings were the only things Enjolras registered. If the situation required it Enjolras would certainly refer to Grantaire as 'friend', though he never noticed the other man as a friend should.

Then again, Enjolras's disposition rarely resulted in him noticing anyone. Such was his temperament that it simply never occurred to him to expand a great deal of energy for the sake of others. That is not to say he was uncaring or unkind, it was simply that true affection was alien to him. To make matters more confusing, Enjolras had also been bestowed with the gift of great charisma, resulting in multiple interactions of great emotional depth with another individual. The next day, Enjolras would have forgotten all about it, and the pour soul who had so briefly been his confidante would be left bewildered.

His friends had become aware of this, and for the most part it affected them little. Grantaire was the anomaly; he alone sought affection in addition to leadership. A study of Enjolras's character had resulted in the conclusion that the only way to be loved by Enjolras was to be France, and that being impossible so was his goal.

Much of the time, Grantaire did his best to ignore this. The situation as it stood was not undesirable. He held a place within the social group, even if it was not one of great respect and influence. The others were united by the cause; he joined them for lack of a better occupation. Their company never bored him - Grantaire adored his friends, though he was never seen to express it through actions or speech. He went where they led and criticized what they said, and found himself appeased.

 

If we are to name Grantaire Icarus, then there is no doubt that Enjolras is his sun. A wilful boy and later a passionate man, Enjolras cared deeply for France and little else. His friends, though loyal, had other interests and occupations while their leader had none. His faith was unshakable and all consuming, and he had allowed it to consume him. The heat of battle had ignited his courage rather than depleting it, and when he believed he was facing death Enjolras welcomed his mortality as a necessary part of himself. He sought Death or Glory, yet cruelly he was awarded neither.

They had not paid him the courtesy of a martyr's death, nor had they allowed Grantaire a reprieve from living. The two men had been forcefully separated from the ghosts of their friends and conveyed to a jail to await trial. For the first hour following this insult Enjolras had raged, furious at having been imprisoned. His zeal was remarkable, yet it could not be sustained indefinitely and every so often he was forced to stop and regain his breath.

In this respect, Grantaire had adopted the reverse attitude. He sat composedly with his back to the wall, observing his companion with undisguised affection. Of the direness of the situation he was fully aware, yet unlike Enjolras he had reached the conclusion that death remained inevitable. However democratic the trial, it would only serve to belittle rather than pardon them. Never having placed the value of his life especially high, Grantaire was not distressed by the imminent prospect of losing it. He was not panicked by despair; for it was a feeling with which he was all too familiar.

'The guards are not the ones you wish to abuse,' he said, having grown tired of Enjolras's vehement protestations. 'They did not sentence us to life. That was the work of some other fiend, one whom we failed to strike down.'

Irritated by these words, and at the moderately conceited tone in which they were delivered, Enjolras summoned his energy for another tirade, intending to direct it towards his cellmate. Yet he stopped short, for he had for the first time truly noticed Grantaire.

At a glance, R's wildly curling hair and traces of beard suggested a dishevelled Dionysus, albeit one currently banished from his vineyard. The composition of his face contained a certain quality, causing it to appear likeable if not especially handsome. Furthermore, Grantaire's expression perfectly encapsulated the sense of resigned misery of which Enjolras was beginning to feel the effects.

Grantaire himself was for once, confused by the situation. He had provoked a lecture for the simple pleasure of conducting Enjolras's attention, and now he had more of it than he reasonably knew what to do with. He met the other man's gaze, and said, in an awkward attempt to be humorous, 'You're staring. Do I have something on my face?'

Enjolras broke off his gaze abruptly, though he ceased pacing and settled himself in a sitting position alongside his companion.

'You puzzle me,' he admitted, after a moment's thought. 'Do you _want_ to die? I can't tell.'

'A conundrum indeed,' Grantaire remarked. He was not perturbed by the nature of the question; it was the fact that Enjolras had thought to ask that he found surprising. 'I reply, much as I did before, in times of plenty - _I'll have what the other fellow is having.'_

Enjolras took some time to mull this over. He was not blind to his ability to inspire loyalty, he had just never thought of it as a personal thing. 

'What do you suppose they'll do to us?' Grantaire asked, more to break the sudden quiet than for any other reason. He did not particularly wish to speculate on the nature of the immediate future, but he had the luxury of Enjolras's undivided attention and did not wish to squander it. If his suspicions concerning execution were to prove correct, Grantaire knew their conversations were numbered. He was painfully aware that he was not the compatriot with whom Enjolras would have chosen to spend his final hours, but as nobody had deigned to consult Enjolras on the matter there was nothing either of them could do about it.

'They will destroy us, or endeavour to,' Enjolras said flatly. 'In order for the current regime to survive, they must eradicate or corrupt the remaining revolutionaries. Our ideas and aims will be disgraced, they will prune our branch lest it infect the rest of the political tree.'

'They cannot keep pruning forever,' remarked Grantaire. 'Or they shall kill the tree.'

A moment passed before either man registered the absurdity of the situation as it stood; that Grantaire should be the one to console Enjolras, or that his methods of consolation should involve exactly the type of naivety he found unbearable. As this realization dawned, Grantaire stifled a chuckle and added, as an afterthought, 'To be executed as a martyr has the potential to be beneficial. Why, some fair maids may even weep to see us face the firing squad, brave and unyielding to the last breath.'

If Enjolras received this comment as a slight, he bore no visible sign. Instead he yawned, and said, 'Should anything of interest occur, I hope you will take it upon yourself to wake me.'

That message delivered, he endeavoured to make himself comfortable as he could given surroundings and fell into a doze with astonishing quickness.

This was not a sight Grantaire had previously been treated to, only having seen Enjolras in action. A man may not maintain a façade when sleeping, and so it was that the true face of Enjolras was revealed. Grantaire responded by exhibiting a series of emotions: firstly curiosity, secondly attraction and thirdly embarrassment. For Enjolras to concede so thoughtlessly to such scrutiny seemed a crime in itself. Grantaire, a man abashed by nothing, felt oddly unnerved by this sudden intimacy of trust.

Rather than recoiling to a safe distance, as was his instinct, R shuffled closer. Supported as it was by the wall, Enjolras's sleeping form was starting to slide, as though dragged down by the weight of his slumber. Realising that his friend would soon lie outstretched on the filthy floor, Grantaire acted with the brand of spontaneity that had been heavily practiced by his late friends. Edging closer still he offered his shoulder as a rest, and was rewarded by the sudden weight and a mass of blond curls assaulting his ear. R held his breath, yet Enjolras did not stir - if anything, he sank deeper into oblivion.

Grantaire slept himself, though for him the night was punctuated with regular awakenings. In a dream he saw himself standing atop an intact barricade, holding the flag aloft. Yet when he glanced down at his body he saw red soaking his shirt in three places, and fancied he could feel the pain of the wounds.

Enjolras's dreams were less complex, consisting entirely of a random sequence of images each more incoherent than the last. He woke to great confusion, for not since being young child had he woken alongside and in close contact with another person. The immediacy of Grantaire's presence mutually soothed and troubled him. Despite this, Enjolras made no move away, he simply gathered his bearings and laid his head once more upon R's shoulder.

Upon waking, Grantaire was mortified by the proceedings. He silently constructed several apologies for his gross invasion of Enjolras's privacy, though he discarded all when the following facts came to his attention. Firstly, Enjolras was awake, and so assumingly in charge of his mental faculties. Secondly, upon waking the other man had not retreated, but made himself more comfortable.

Grantaire was astonished. For some minutes more he feigned sleep, though his mind was far from inactive. As we have previously said, Enjolras was not always sincere in his relations. R had witnessed his companion's energy at work, and recognised that the fact Enjolras was showing interest did not always mean he felt it. That Enjolras had not rejected intimacy, while miraculous, hardly proved that Grantaire was anything special. In these still moments before the morning had properly taken hold, R prepared himself to see only indifference in Enjolras's eyes.

As it happens, both men had misjudged the situation. They had made the error of assuming that some sort of explanation would be required, or at the very least their familiarity acknowledged. They had reckoned without two of the world's most powerful forces: man's ability to be in denial, and breakfast.

The latter was delivered carelessly, shoved into the cell by a guard who seemed half-asleep. Grantaire rose and collected the bowls, inspecting the contents without enthusiasm.

'It would be highly optimistic to assume any of this was once an animal,' he said, resuming his seat on the floor. 'I wonder if even the vegetables are genuine.'

'If any were, they were doubtless awarded to the cutthroats next-door,' said Enjolras, in a feebly humorous manner. 'If a man kills for money, it is because he has to. To the lackwit police a political opinion is as frivolous as a lace petticoat.'

For a fleeting moment, Grantaire enjoyed a mental portrait of Enjolras clad in such a garment.  'And so the Courageous Leader learned the nature of the world,' he said, gently mocking.

 

Time, as it is wont to do, crawls with incredible sluggishness just when haste is desired. Enjolras and Grantaire, though neither of them fond of the squalor they now lived in, discovered simultaneously that boredom is what truly makes confinement unbearable. Though they had a great deal to discover about each other (and did) the lack of occupation, useful or otherwise, proved to weight heavily upon them both. Night came as a relief, and this time when R offered for Enjolras to sleep beside him, the latter accepted without hesitation. Socially they were still opposites, often unable to take each other seriously, but with the darkness came ghosts, and (though neither man would admit it) they could not face the dead alone.

 

Where the sun is not visible, days and nights bear no distinction. Time may be measured by guard rotation, or by the delivery of meals, but without the sun such measurements are meaningless. Grantaire kept a tally on the wall, as had many before him, though the ritual soon bored him.

'Perhaps _this_ is our sentence,' Enjolras suggested, on the sixth day of their imprisonment. 'Not to be executed or destroyed, merely forgotten about.'

‘It would be considered too merciful. While we live, so do our ideals,' replied R, in an uncharacteristic show of patriotism.

It is worth noting at this stage that Grantaire, who was never able to silence his opinions or curb his vices even for the most obsessive of love, had during these six days developed a trait resembling empathy. He was used to being unhappy himself, but having been forced to bear witness to Enjolras's misery his world had expanded.

He was not alone in this transformation. Enjolras's perception had widened also to accommodate this new lifestyle. Though he remained blissfully ignorant of R's true feelings towards him, Enjolras had formed an attachment to his cellmate.

A week's inactive confinement proved to be sufficient. They were tried, after a fashion, and as Grantaire had predicted the trial was a farce. The reprieve came in the form of the sentence - execution by firing squad.

Yet this confirmation saw a change in the prisoners. For two men who spent the vast majority of their time lamenting over the fact that they were still alive, neither actually desired to die. This revelation dawned some hours after the trial, as they neared the shadowy realms of sleep.

Grantaire, feeling the warmth of Enjolras's body beside him, found it unthinkable that he should want to leave a world in which he was accepted by the object of his desire. To be close to Enjolras would have been enough, but the idea that Grantaire was _needed_ by him provided a crystalline motive to remain alive.

In his turn, Enjolras's political ambitions had increased, for rather than remaining idle he had spent a large part of his time planning a new campaign. He had additionally concluded that tiring as they might be, there was something healthy about Grantaire's endless mocking objections.

In short, each had rediscovered Life and was once more smitten.  

 

They did not leave their cell again until the execution date, though they did receive a visitor. He was a man of middle age, who introduced himself as a reporter and requested to hear the convicts' side of events. It did not take a highly sceptical mind to realise that the reporter had no intention of siding with the rebellion, and neither Grantaire nor Enjolras felt obliged to cooperate. 

Frustrated at being unable to glean his desired information, the reporter adopted an unpleasant attitude. Roundly insulting both their attitudes and political beliefs, he made ready to leave. He had neared the door when Grantaire, having formed an idea, called him back. Hopeful at this turn of events, the reporter halted and waited for a confession. He was disappointed; Grantaire's intent was not to be helpful. With a companionable smile, R punched the reporter square on the nose.

The proceedings immediately following this event occurred with haste. The reporter was bundled out lest the attack should be resumed and Grantaire found himself on the receiving end of a physical reprimand, courtesy of the guards. That dispensed with, the gaolers withdrew, leaving one prisoner bruised and the other baffled.

'He was vapid and thick-headed, I agree,' said Enjolras, in the silence that followed the closing of the door. 'Though I didn't realise you found reporters so offensive.'

'Oh, I had no quarrel with _him,'_ replied Grantaire dismissively. 'It merely occurred to me that striking a petulant fool was a satisfaction I would never again have.'

'You are a fool yourself,' Enjolras retorted, though his tone contained an odd amount of warmth. Somewhat against his will, his fondness for Grantaire was growing.

R acknowledged the comment with a tilt of his head. His knuckles smarted and he could feel the bruises rising on his cheekbone, yet the feeling of achievement remained.

'You're bleeding,' Enjolras said suddenly. A thin trickle of blood was emerging from R's nose.

Grantaire touched his face, and inspected his fingers. 'You're right,' he said simply, adding, 'do you happen do have a handkerchief?'

Having produced one, Enjolras made a move as though to offer it, then seemed to change his mind. 'Allow me.'

'When a man cannot wipe is own nose, what hope is there for France?' Grantaire inquired, though he stood attentively to Enjolras's ministrations.

'Quiet,' Enjolras told him. 'You would only have made a mess of it.' Having finished, he replaced the bloodied handkerchief inside his pocket and settled himself in what they found was the driest and most comfortable spot on the floor.

Grantaire shook himself out of his reverie and tried to convince himself the truth of what had just taken place between them. Nowadays he was finding it very difficult to discern whether Enjolras actually liked him or had simply adjusted his life to include him. It was unclear whether their relationship had become simpler or more complex now that R was the only planet in Enjolras's solar system.

He did not have long to ponder. The execution date was approaching with alarming haste. Indeed, Grantaire - a man so previously self-destructive - was beginning to dread it. Pride prevented him from confiding in Enjolras, who seemed to be anticipating the day with a sort of religious fervour.

'They are not even granting us a guillotine,' R complained, on the eve of the execution. 'And they use those on the most common of criminals.'

'You forget,' said Enjolras wryly. 'Thieves and marauders merely _suggest_ that the system is flawed. ' _We_ made a point to proclaim it from the rooftops.'

'How foolish of us,' Grantaire responded lightly. 'Though it does render the situation rather ridiculous does it not? It would have saved a great deal of time and trouble to have shot us first and blackened our names after.'

'If it has escaped your notice, the legal structure currently in place is hardly the most efficient,' Enjolras said.

'I did perchance hear one story,' R mused. 'Some inspector-or-other has formed an obsession finding an escaped convict, a minor criminal of sorts. Quite pointlessly - the man's already served his time.' He paused for a fleeting moment, then - 'How joyous to think these same laws will take our lives.'

It was then that Enjolras, sensing an opportunity, decided to bring up a matter of a rather delicate nature. In his defence, it was to satisfy a curiosity that had been pestering him for the larger part of the day, and besides, Enjolras rarely allowed Opportunity to pass him by.

'The law would have taken _my_ life regardless,' he began, with slight apprehension. 'Yet you might have thought to plead innocent. Adopted the role of drunk, and with many innkeepers to testify to your character…'

'It would not have been allowed,' Grantaire responded, selecting his words with caution. Needless to say, he had not expected the conversation to take this turn. 'If you recall the options at the trial, life was never among them.'

Enjolras disagreed. He had the bit between his teeth and was not relinquishing it now. 'On the contrary, their mockery of justice would have adored the idea. How better to discredit a movement than to associate it with a careless drunkard? You could have reclaimed your lifestyle with open arms. Why then, did you condemn yourself?'

Grantaire was spared from answering by the arrival of the evening meal. He had never before been so glad to see stewed vegetables. Enjolras did his best to obtain an answer, but as it became apparent none would be offered he reluctantly let the matter drop.

In Grantaire's mind, the conversation had sparked a vivid fantasy of how events might have proceeded had he chosen life over loyalty. Such a decision would have required betrayal of the deepest kind, though he knew (or suspected) that his defection would not have surprised Enjolras. That thought stung, so he did his best to direct his mind to other topics. However, that which he imagined next was even worse: the thought of attending the execution to see Enjolras die alone. He had no doubt that Enjolras would die bravely, as befitted so compelling a leader, yet the very image filled him with shame. To prolong a pointless existence without the steadying influence of his friends would be more than he could bear. R suddenly felt ludicrously thankful that he was to die upon the morrow. Self-preservation aside, at least he would not have failed Enjolras.

 

All factors considered; it would not be outrageous to assume that their last night in the land of the living would prompt more physical and emotional intimacy than ever before. That was not the case. Sleep came to neither man and until the third hour after midnight they sat apart, each engrossed in his thoughts. To mention the night's passing would be to call attention to their state of denial, and to request human warmth now felt too near to admitting weakness.

Grantaire, always the more perceptive of the two, recognised simultaneously the ridiculousness of the situation and his inability to alter it. He longed to fall asleep listening to Enjolras's steady breaths, but that was a luxury that circumstance had denied him. Pride has always been Man's downfall, and now it left a bitter taste in R's mouth.

On his side of the room, Enjolras regarded sleep with the same contempt he usually reserved for the monarchy. He had thought about death in the same way all men do; morbidly fascinated and yet retaining an air that said, _'Don't worry, it will never happen to me.'_ To the immediacy of the sentence he had paid less attention. It had of course occurred to him that the land of the living was preferable to that of the dead, but it was the latter that he had to face and he had in a way come to terms with the prospect.

They passed a good deal of the night in this way, brooding in separate corners until one spoke up.  Peculiarly, it was Enjolras.

'I'm sorry,' he said. Whether or not he intended to sound spontaneous, the word carried an air of heavy rehearsal.

'For which of your many crimes and misdemeanours?' Grantaire inquired, in a tone of good humour.

'I referred to you as a careless drunk and implied that you were involved in the revolution by mistake.'

'You know as well as I do the truth of the first part, and you implied no such thing.' Grantaire stretched. 'Should your sudden apologetic impulse be influenced by the lateness of the hour, I will not hold your future self accountable for anything your surprisingly courteous present self might say.'

'Then I shall do the same,' Enjolras replied.

'Excellent.' Unknowingly, Enjolras had just granted R the freedom to speak plainly without fear of being taken seriously. 'Then I must enlighten you on the subject of vice. A drinker and gambler, I'm sure you will not deny that I am familiar with it. It is true, my shortcomings outnumber my virtues, but that is the role Life has seen fit to give me. I have accommodated this casting as best I can. It is easy to agree on _my_ disreputable nature, so there is little point in examining it further. What poses a far more interesting question is this: does a passionate revolutionary pledged to save his country or perish in the attempt succumb to something as base and ordinary as sin?

'Indeed he does, though through different means,' Grantaire was enjoying himself now, growing more enthusiastic with every word. 'The sin of the Believer is the absolute nature of his belief. For it he would sacrifice God and roast Him on a brazier. Life, love, health - to him they are trivial details, barely worth discussing. The man becomes what he worships, till he recognises his own brilliance and ascends a throne. To conclude,' Grantaire paused, both for breath and dramatic effect, 'your vice is that you believe too much, mine that I believe too little.'

Silence fell. Enjolras was regarding Grantaire with vague hostility bordering on incredulity. Suddenly aware that free speech did not entail a complete abandonment of tact, R said, 'I did not mean it to sound quite so cutting.'

'You're wasted as a drunk,' was all Enjolras said. The complimentary value of the remark did not go unnoticed. Sensing the awkwardness that followed, he continued, 'I'm a little cold.'

Grantaire needed no more invitation. He abandoned his post at once, joining Enjolras on his side of the cell. The odd embrace in which they lay was not entirely platonic, though in this night in particular it marked solidarity before all else.

Much to their surprise they slept well and deeply, something one would have thought impossible. The rapidity with which the pair had gone from irritated acquaintances to literal bedmates would have amused R deeply, had he stopped to consider it.

 

Morning arrived sooner than it was wanted, bringing with it the fateful arrival of the guards. Breakfast was no less vile than usual; Grantaire abstained while Enjolras ate with vigour. There was little time for much else; as directly the morning meal was finished the prisoners were escorted out of the cell.

Most executions of that time were done so with a guillotine, as it proved easier and more efficient than traditional firing squads. However somebody in the chain of command harboured a vindictive streak, and had adjusted the rules to fit his needs. It was agreed the rebels would not be executed in the square, for it would be too easy for the crowd to turn into a political riot. Therefore, Enjolras and Grantaire were to be shot in the prison-yard behind the main gaol.

They walked in silence, having nothing of note to say to one another. Upon arriving at the yard, the captain of the guard inquired if they desired blindfolds. Both refused.

As they took their positions, Grantaire made a snap decision. He had hitherto assumed he would say nothing to Enjolras in regard to his feelings, anxious to avoid a scene. However the sight of the rifles prompted a change of heart.

'It was you,' he said, and wit those three words the remainder of his resolve shattered. 'You asked me what it was I loved so much I would die for it. I avoided answering. I presumed you would mock or pity me and I could bear neither. So I held my peace. I thought I could be unselfish, that I could die without having breathed a word of it. It won't be a shock to hear I am not that strong. I said I believed in nothing: I lied. I believe in you.'

No words either of acceptance or rejection occurred to Enjolras. There was no time for either. He simply extended his hand to clasp R's in a tight grip, and offered a smile.

No sooner had he made this gesture the command was given to fire. Enjolras had not yet averted his gaze from Grantaire's face when the first volley rang out. Each as hopelessly mortal as the other, Icarus and his sun fell to earth, their hands still entwined. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Firstly, the type of belief mocked by Grantaire is not specifically meant to be religious, just thought I'd clarify that he's criticizing belief in general, whether it is in a person, idea or principle.
> 
> 2) "It's historically inaccurate!" you cry, as you throw textbooks at me. I know. They would totally have been guillotined. I'm hiding behind a sign with 'artistic license' written on it. I wanted their deaths to mirror the actual events of the book.
> 
> EDIT: I have altered the last line. I was never very happy with the original and after five months of doing other things I have come up with something I'm satisfied with.


End file.
